Roland's heart thundered against his ribs as he entered the test arena, each step echoing in the vast chamber designed to measure and categorize the very thing he lacked. Above, hundreds of students packed the elevated observation platforms, their excited chatter a constant drone that made his skin crawl. He could feel their eyes on him—some curious, others contemptuous, all waiting to witness the Empty's inevitable failure.
The arena itself was a masterpiece of military engineering. Complex measurement equipment lined the walls, their crystalline components pulsing with ethereal light. Different stations were arranged in a precise circle: essence measurement crystals, elemental focusing points, and combat assessment zones. Each piece of equipment represented another opportunity to prove what everyone already knew—that he was worthless in this world of power.
As Roland took his position, memories of previous failures crashed over him like bitter waves. The time he'd tried to manifest even a spark of ability during junior high evaluations. The day he'd watched helplessly as Tyson Clad had tormented younger students, knowing he couldn't stop it. Each memory carried the weight of his impotence in a world where power meant everything.
The black grimoire in his bag seemed to pulse against his back, its warmth more pronounced than usual. Roland resisted the urge to reach for it, knowing it would only draw more unwanted attention. Still, its presence provided an odd comfort, like a secret ally in enemy territory.
James Well, the combat instructor, stepped forward with the fluid grace of a predator. His black uniform bore the insignia of a first-class private, and his eyes held the sharp calculation of someone who had survived countless battles.
"The testing protocol is simple," Well announced, his voice carrying easily through the arena. "Each student will channel their essence into the measurement crystals, demonstrate basic control over their primary element, and participate in a brief combat assessment. Your essence pools will be measured throughout the process." He paused, his gaze lingering on Roland. "Everyone must participate. No exceptions."
The first students stepped forward, and Roland watched with growing dread as they displayed their abilities. Cole Cindercrest moved like living flame, his control over fire both precise and devastating. The measurement crystals blazed crimson during his test, indicating an impressive essence pool for someone his age.
The Frost twins performed with characteristic perfection, their ice abilities transforming the testing zone into a winter wonderland. Their synchronized movements spoke of years of rigorous training, and the approving murmurs from the observation platforms confirmed their status as prodigies.
Others showed varying levels of skill—some impressive, some struggling, but all demonstrating at least some connection to the power that had become humanity's shield against the darkness. Each success felt like another stone added to the weight crushing Roland's chest.
Finally, his turn arrived.
"Roland Kuiper," Well called, not bothering to hide the dismissive tone in his voice. "Step forward."
Whispers erupted from the crowd as Roland approached the first station. He could make out fragments of their conversations, each one a needle under his skin.
"Watch the Empty fail—"
"Why even bother testing him—"
"Heard his parents abandoned him because—"
Roland reached for the measurement crystal, his hand trembling slightly. The grimoire's warmth intensified, almost burning against his back. As his fingers made contact with the crystal's smooth surface, something unprecedented occurred.
Instead of remaining inert as it had in all his previous tests, the crystal began to pulse with a dark energy that matched the color of his grimoire's jewel. The reading equipment surrounding the station crackled with unusual activity, their displays showing patterns that made the technicians exchange worried glances.
Well stepped closer, his expression shifting from dismissive to intensely focused. "Continue the test," he ordered, though his tone carried a new edge of uncertainty.
Before Roland could move to the next station, a sharp crack split the air. The measurement crystal beneath his fingers had developed a web of fine fractures, dark energy seeping through the lines like black lightning. Other nearby equipment began to malfunction, their readings becoming increasingly erratic.
Then chaos erupted.
The surge of wild essence energy that filled the arena was unlike anything Roland had ever experienced. Training dummies meant for combat practice suddenly animated themselves, their wooden forms moving with jerky, unnatural motion. Students scattered as the constructs began to attack, their strikes carrying real force despite their artificial nature.
In the midst of the pandemonium, Roland stood frozen, watching as the situation spiral out of control. The grimoire in his bag pulsed with increasing intensity, each beat sending strange sensations through his body. For brief moments, he felt something stirring within him—not quite an ability, but something different, something older.
The Frost twins moved in perfect synchronization, their ice abilities creating barriers to contain some of the animated dummies. Cole Cindercrest showed off with aggressive counterattacks, his flames incinerating several constructs while managing to look impressively casual about it. James Well struggled to maintain order, his own abilities focused on protecting the younger students from the chaos.
Roland felt the weight of a choice pressing down on him. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to hide, to do what Empties were supposed to do—stay out of the way. But something deeper, something connected to the pulsing grimoire at his back, urged him forward.
Without fully understanding why, Roland found himself moving toward a group of cornered first-years. The grimoire's warmth spread through his entire body, and for a moment, strange symbols flickered across his skin like living tattoos. Though he still couldn't access any conventional abilities, he felt different—more aware, more connected to the chaos around him.
Using the hand-to-hand combat techniques he'd practiced in secret, Roland engaged one of the animated dummies. His strikes, though powered only by natural strength, seemed to land with unusual effectiveness. Each impact sent ripples of dark energy through the construct, disrupting whatever force animated it.
"Get to the exit," he shouted to the first-years, positioning himself between them and the remaining dummies. They hesitated only briefly before running, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion—an Empty was protecting them.
The chaos lasted several more minutes before the combined efforts of the instructors finally contained it. As the dust settled, Roland found himself the center of attention once again, but the looks he received now were different. Confusion, speculation, and in some cases, fear had replaced the usual contempt.
Military officials gathered in small groups, their urgent whispers carrying an edge of concern. Students gave Roland an even wider berth than before, but their avoidance now seemed born of uncertainty rather than mere dismissal. James Well studied him with an intensity that made Roland want to disappear into the floor.
The grimoire's pulsing gradually subsided, its jewel dimming to its usual glow, but Roland could feel that something had changed. The book's lock mechanism showed subtle signs of movement, tiny adjustments in its intricate patterns. More disturbing were the markings that had appeared on his skin—though they faded quickly, he could still feel them beneath the surface, like words written in invisible ink.
When James Well finally stepped forward to address the gathered students, his announcement sent ripples of shock through the crowd.
"Despite today's... incident," he said, choosing his words carefully, "all students who participated in testing will be assigned to their respective classes." His eyes fixed on Roland. "This includes Mr. Kuiper, who will remain in Class F."
Whispers erupted again, but Well silenced them with a sharp gesture. "Special arrangements will be made to accommodate certain... unique situations. All students are reminded that training accidents are common in ability development, and today's events should not be a cause for undue concern."
But Roland could hear what wasn't being said. The way Well emphasized "unique situations," the careful vagueness about "training accidents," the subtle glances between military officials—something about what had happened had disturbed them deeply.
Later that evening, alone in his new dorm room, Roland examined the grimoire more closely. The book felt different now, as if something within it had shifted in response to the day's events. The lock mechanism, though still secure, showed subtle changes in its patterns. Most intriguingly, when he held it up to the light, he could see faint traces of the same symbols that had appeared on his skin during the incident.
As he set the book down, something slipped from between its pages—a note he was certain hadn't been there before. The handwriting was elegant but seemed to shift and change as he read it, as if the words themselves were reluctant to remain fixed on the page:
[The true nature of Emptiness is not an absence, but a possibility. What seems like a void may be a vessel waiting to be filled with something far older than the powers that now rule this world. Be cautious, be patient, and above all, be ready. The path you walk is not the one they think it is.]
Roland stared at the note until his eyes burned, his mind racing with questions. Who had written it? How had it appeared in a book that couldn't be opened? And most importantly, what did it mean about the nature of his supposed Emptiness?
Outside his window, the lights of the military academy blazed against the darkening sky, while somewhere in the distance, the perpetual war against the monsters of the Abyss raged on. Roland tucked the note carefully back into the grimoire, knowing that tomorrow would bring new challenges, new scrutiny, and perhaps new insights into the mystery he carried.
The true test, he realized, was only beginning.